


Seeing Clearly

by QueenBee4Ever



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 15:16:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11061681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenBee4Ever/pseuds/QueenBee4Ever
Summary: Spencer Reid has lost so much, even himself. Something needs to change. When he sits down to figure out what he needs in the future to help save himself, he never realized what seeing clearly would entail.





	Seeing Clearly

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my lovely banner creator Rigel99!
> 
> And, thank you to DarkJediQueen for setting up the Criminal Minds Big Bang. I am so, so slow, just getting this in under the deadline. I've not written Aaron and Spencer before, and this was so much fun! (And, I got to pull Bond and Q along for the ride.)
> 
> I hope you all enjoy the story!

 

 

 

Seeing Clearly

 

 

**Through a glass, darkly**

 

 

Spencer sits bolt upright in bed, screaming himself awake from a nightmare about prison. The lights in his bedroom are already on, having stayed on for the last 3 days, 4 hours and 22 minutes. Since the last nightmare. 

 

Mr. Scratch is gone, dead. Diana Reid is gone, lost in her head. Hotch is gone, buried in witness protection. His apartment is both too quiet, and too solitary - but the world around him is too loud and too crowded. Something needs to change. Everything needs to change. He hates change. 

 

Spencer looks at the time, and decides its not too early to head into the office. He dresses carefully, and makes sure his paperwork is safely in his messenger bag. He is ready, and not going to change his mind. He needs to get away from this.

 

**Glimpse of the Unseen**

 

Three weeks later, Spencer stands outside his small house, in the middle of the California scrublands south of Lake Tahoe, watching the sunset. Sipping coffee, he’s finally able to just enjoy the quiet. The irony of him hiding from the world in a small cabin in the middle of nowhere, like Gideon, is not lost on him. 

 

Garcia was a godsend in helping get him set up here. The team had been extremely concerned about him, he realized, as they didn’t fight his leaving like this. The Director only asked him to take a year’s sabbatical instead of resigning outright - Spencer remains convinced at the end of the year he’ll still leave, but saw the logic in keeping loose ties with the agency, no matter how ill-used he’s felt lately. 

 

Still, somehow, in less than a week, Garcia found the house, and had installed high-speed internet, a state of the art security system, and various secure systems so he can still communicate with his friends. He’s pretty sure she also had varying monitoring devices installed so she can keep tabs on him - but he decided that was a small price to pay for the help. She also set up regular grocery delivery, and cleaning services.  Spencer has had the time and privacy he needed to figure out a very important profile - who is Spencer Reid.

 

Spencer drains his coffee mug, and reenters his tiny house. The inside of his house looks like he looted a white board store. Photos and sketches are framed in scribbled notes and connecting lines. Pages of handwritten notes are strewn on the floor. In the middle of it all is a desk chair. He sits down, takes a deep breath, and looks at the cacophony. He shoves personal feelings aside, and looks at the boards like the map of his life describes an unsub.

 

“Reid is a caucasian male in his mid-thirties. Highly educated, tends to hide behind smokescreen of awkwardness. Has massive trust issues due to paternal abandonment, maternal degenerative illness, and extended, intensive bullying starting in elementary school. He lives under the cloud of inheriting his mothers’ varying illnesses, fearing losing his mind above all.“

 

“Reid is attracted to people who are clearly intelligent, but also use that intelligence to excel in their fields. He is drawn to caretakers and leaders, being exhausted by the constant worry for his mother, and the lack of support in his personal life.  He is primarily attracted to men, but due to his career choice, has only shown attraction to women.”

 

Spencer stopped, and reran that last sentence. Primarily attracted to men. When he decided to focus on joining the FBI, and the BAU specifically, he made the conscious decision to suppress his attraction to men, realizing his youth and lack of physical prowess would already serve as a disadvantage. Spencer falls quiet, and runs the rest of the profile in his head. Now that he has a grasp of who he is again, he needs to ask himself the harder question. How will he be happy going forward.

 

 

**Peer through the darkness, find the light.**

 

Spencer sits in a pub in London, relaxing with an old friend before starting a guest lecture series for various institutions in Britain. While Spencer hasn’t seen Algernon since they met and recognized each other as kindred spirits at a seminar on Internet Crime, they have kept in touch over email and such.  ”Are you going to tell me what help you need for this part of your sabbatical, Spence? I’m dying of curiosity.“, pesters Algernon. 

"Did you know that the word Sabbatical is from the Greek Sabbatikos - of the sabbath. It originally referred to the sabbatical year in Mosaic law, the seventh year where the land was to lay fallow, and debtors were forgiven. In the 1800s, the concept was extended to university professors….”

 

“Spencer.”

 

Spencer broke off his ramble and looked off into the distance. Algernon seeing the effects of the last few years in his face. “I’ve decided to spend the rest of my time testing some personal hypotheses with the end goal of increasing the likelihood that my next years will be personally happier than the last decade. The first step was getting away, at least temporarily, from the FBI, secluding myself from the influences that have battered me over the last years.  In my seclusion, I examined my life for the last decade, and came to the realization that while I’ve been proactive in shaping my professional life, I have been only reactive in my personal. I need to, at risk of sounding like some trite inspirational speaker, take charge of my life. To do that, I require some assistance. Hence, coming to England. 

 

“Al, I need help, well, dating.”

 

To say Algernon was flabbergasted would be an understatement. 

 

Spencer smirked, and continued. “Let me explain. I know you are constrained from telling me about your job, but I have made some conclusions based on our past conversations that seem logical.I know you hold a position in your government, one that requires a high security rating. You are a prodigious hacker, and have access to some rather extensive background knowledge on anyone I’d meet. I need that in order to even casually date someone at this point.”

 

“Honestly, I need to run my dating experiments as an undercover op. I need a voice in my ear, and backup I can trust. I can’t ask anyone I know from the FBI, or honestly any of the US Alphabet to help, but I thought you could. You and your James.”

 

“In addition, I would like to expand my dating sample from purely heterosexual encounters, into homosexual. While I personally identify as bisexual, I haven’t had even casual encounters with another male since university. In order to test the hypotheses around potential dating partners, I need to experiment in an environment that I can trust. 

 

“As my friend, and since you are with James, I can trust both of you to help me through this. Please?”

 

Algernon doesn’t hesitate. “Of course. Let’s retire to my flat and we can explore options. James is in town right now, would you like his input?”

 

Spencer and Algernon head out, chatting about ways Reid could put himself out there in safety, so to speak. 

 

On their way to the door, Reid's attention is grabbed by a man at the bar.  Longer hair. Casually dressed, but the way he stands seems hauntingly familiar to Reid. Reid freezes, catalogs similarities and differences. Could it be? Did he come to London to hide? Reid takes one hesitant step forward, then hears a voice beyond the man call out "Paul! I hope you haven't been waiting long!”

 

The man at the bar turns to look at the newcomer - a tall, somewhat gawky man with floppy brown hair. They kiss with the restraint of long time lovers. "No, not long" says Paul, who looks back longingly at the empty space where Reid had been standing. "Not long at all."

 

 

A single beam shines through the darkness

 

At Algernon’s flat, Spencer watches in bemusement as Al digs through earwigs, trackers, and panic buttons, choosing what to outfit Spencer with. Most of them are more advanced than anything he’d seen at the FBI.

 

“Al, you know showing me this stuff is not stopping me from making further conclusions toward what your job actually is. While I don’t profile friends, you know there’s only so much I can ignore.”

 

Al smirked and waved a tablet at him. “I’ve asked my superiors to evaluate your security clearance. I have some documents for you to sign, and then I can tell you a little more. Not everything, but enough.” 

 

“James will be by soon to help outfit you. We’ve called in a couple favors, so you’ll be shadowed by a couple more friends of ours, just in case. I’ll be here, but watching. And I’ll be the voice in your earpiece. Lets get you familiar with your kit.”

 

Al slipped into a professional, aloof mien that Spencer hadn’t seen on him before, but was immediately comforting, and ran down the capabilities of the equipment.

 

“Earwig. This one is always on when its in contact with skin, unless I turn it off. The microphone is extremely sensitive, so we should be able to pick up not only what you say, but voices around you. Please avoid immersing it in liquid, and only remove it when the op is done. Your panic word is Morgan.

 

Al hands him a plain ring, fitted for his right hand. “Which leads us to your backup panic device. This ring, when deformed, emits a signal to bring in your backup. Bend it, step on it, hit it - I’ll get the signal. 

 

Al passes over what looks like a normal bandage. “Tracking device. Put it somewhere under your clothes, possibly on your foot. The pad has a tracker in it that lets me find you in a 2 mile radius.

 

“And, since you won’t be carrying, this fountain pen, when turned like this,” Algernon twists the pen cap to the left, past 2 clicks, “becomes a projectile weapon, single shot. Twist, point, and press down on the clip.”

 

“Al, I’ve asked many times for an exploding pen, and you give Spencer one? I’m hurt!”

 

James saunters into the room, hangs a coat bag over the back of a chair, and drops a kiss on Algernon. “Spencer, good to see you. I hear we’re helping you get laid.”

 

Algernon elbows James in the ribs. “Stop that. He’s nervous enough.”

 

Al turns his attention back to Spencer. “Ignore him.” Spencer laughs. “Now lets get your documents signed, so we can cover the rest of the plan.”

 

Spencer signs some altogether intimidating but non-informative NDAs, looks at Algernon, and smirks.

 

“So, Q. What’s the plan?”

 

The look of shock on Algernon’s face was priceless. 

 

**Smoke and Mirrors**

 

A week later, to Spencer’s everlasting shock, the beginning of The Plan did actually have a chance to get him laid. To help him slip out of his well-worn Dr. Spencer Reid persona, they decided to call him Pen, and treat Pen as an undercover persona. Pen is much more comfortable in his skin than Dr. Reid.  Pen, after some coaching, is ready to head out to a gay nightclub and dance.

 

The plan also requires Bond to “encounter” Pen at the club, and proceed to make him look like, as he put it, “the best catch in the place”. This seems ludicrous to Spencer - he doubts the actual physiological validity of throwing him in the deep end like this, but both Bond and Q are convinced this will work, and will make everything afterward more simple. 

 

“Look, Spencer. Bond will dance with you. Believe me, he can make ME look competent on the dance floor. You turn him down, and there will be gents lined up to try to convince you to head to the back with them.” promised Q. “And, nothing will convince you of your attractiveness faster.”

 

And now a couple hours of dance lessons at Q’s flat, Pen is in a taxi, on his way to a club, feeling like he’s dropped into an alternate universe where he is living Morgan’s life instead of his own.  Finally safely exploring a side of himself he hadn’t been able to for years. It was time. 

 

Bond had dressed him in well-tailored black pants, a waistcoat, and a purple silk shirt. Spencer insisted on wearing mis-matched socks, though. He needed to keep something familiar. Based on the looks he got walking up to the door, he supposed he looked good. 

 

Spencer hesitates briefly outside the club, and runs the plan silently one more time. Q is in his ear, and hacked into the surveillance cameras. Bond is already in the club. There is another agent onsite. Everything is as safe as Q can make it. Spencer can do this. 

 

Pen bribes the doorman to let him in with a wink, and steps into the darkened, loud club. Well-honed paranoid instincts had him pausing just inside the door and scanning the space, finding exits, traffic patterns. He heads to the bar, and orders a beer. 

 

He takes a sip, and is immediately set upon by a stunningly sexual Bond. Under cover of introductions and innuendos, Bond confirms that everything is in place and safe.  Bond pulls Pen gently to the dance floor. 

 

What follows is an education in dance as foreplay. While looking like he is holding Pen seductively, Bond guides Pen into a much more sensual dance than Spencer ever thought he’d be capable of. Even knowing Bond is playing a part, and deeply in love with Q, Spencer would not take much to be convinced to head to a back room with Bond.

 

But, Pen is sticking to the plan. They dance for a couple songs, garnering heated looks from other couples, obviously imagining what the sex would look like. But, after the third song, Pen gently turns Bond away, accepts the email address Bond presses on him, and returns alone to the bar to get some water.

 

Just as Q predicted, Pen does not lack for partners for the rest of the night. 

 

As Pen becomes more real to Spencer, Q convinces him that, possibly, he could go a little farther. He allows hands to caress him over his clothing more and more, and with Q’s prompting, pushes close enough to kiss a couple men. He collects emails - putting interesting men into the right hand pocket, and men who didn’t interest him enough into the left. 

 

Eventually, Q must see or hear something that makes him send Bond back over to extract Pen, because suddenly Bond is back in front of him, deftly cutting into the heated dance Pen is exchanging with an older, dark-haired man. Soon, Bond is leading Pen toward the back, seemingly to have sex. Out of the corner of his eye he catches a glimpse of a familiar smile, familiar eyes moving his way. Hotch? He turns to catch a closer look, but Bond is inexorably but subtly pulling him out the back door and into his car.

 

“I think that’s enough for tonight, Pen. Your body language was slipping. Best to leave them hanging.” said Q. “And, I can analyze your reactions to different men in there to further refine our search algorithm.”

 

“Q, can you check the cameras for…” Spencer stops, grinds his fists into his eyes like a child, and groans. “Nevermind. I can’t believe I did that.”

 

Bond snorts. “You were surprisingly good. Are you sure you don’t want to take a job over here? We could use an agent like you. And Q already likes you.” Spencer snorts, and ignores him, trying to convince himself that was not actually Hotch he saw at the club. That the Hotch-look alike was not trying to get close to him to dance. 

 

Spencer spends the next week lecturing, letting Q find the patterns in the data gathered. Bond heads out on a short mission, but is back by the next weekend. Q seems pleased that James is only slightly battered, and points them at a bar instead of a club.

 

**The light that shines in the darkness**

 

 

When picking this location as the next experimental location, Q had taken the data about who Spencer was drawn to at the clubs, and found that there would be a high number of gentlemen who should fit Spencer’s date profile here. 

It was a dim, comfortable bar, with a scattering of tables, high-backed booths that would afford some privacy, and a long, U-shaped bar surface made of polished mahogany. 

 

Spencer had a pang of nostalgia. He’d love to have his team here with him, decompressing after a case. Getting called “Pretty Boy” by Morgan. JJ and Emily laughing. Penny being her exuberant self. And Hotch. Getting Hotch to relax a bit, and smile. 

 

But, they weren’t here, would never be here. And he was. 

 

Spencer saunters to the end of the bar, noting the appreciative looks he garnered. Signaling the bartender, he orders a vodka tonic, and half-turns to scan the crowd.

 

“Hello, Pen” sounds Bond in his ear. “Glad you’ve joined us.” 

 

“Based on our updated info, there are a couple blokes here that might suit. 3 o’clock, blond, grey suit, sitting at a table, solo. CTO of an up and coming bio-med firm. In his 40s. Based on his dating history, and accounts at various dating sites, he’s most interested in casual dating.”

 

“10 o’clock, salt and pepper hair, navy sweater. Ex-military, now works for Interpol, desk job. In a booth with his friends. Similar to bachelor number one, fun in the short term. Avoid the friends.”

 

Bachelor number three is a couple seats down from you at the bar. Blond, stocky, former army doctor. Has an interesting blog, if you’re into those kinds of things.”

 

“Affirmative, Bond. I’ll just sip my drink and give come-hither eyes, then, shall I?” A snort, and he hears the click of the comms channel being cut off. 

 

“Pen, are you sure I can’t offer you a job here in Q-branch? So few can catch 007 off guard like that.” inserts Q. 

 

Spencer leans back on his elbows, knowing that the pose shows off his lean body to its best. Both James and Al had insisted on teaching him how to attract someone’s attention, for which Spencer was grateful. He was still sure that if he had to make the first move, no moves would be made. 

 

Spencer didn’t stand there alone long. The blond in the well tailored suit came up to the bar, ordered a drink, and swept Spencer a gaze that left little to question. “Hi. I’m Mike. Waiting on friends?”

 

“Pen. And, no. By myself tonight.”

 

“Ah, me too. Join me for a drink?”

 

Pen sits, and has a quite enjoyable conversation with Mike. He has to hand it to Q and Bond, the club and the attention he gathered there did make this conversation easier to handle. Pen had fewer worries about making a proper impression, and let his burgeoning confidence in his attractiveness tide him over various awkward spots. It helps that Mike seems to find Pen’s abbreviated rambles interesting. Abbreviated, because Q is helpfully in his ear cutting him off. 

 

Mike is clearly interested in Pen, leaning close, touching his hand to make a point. Bond occasionally gives him pointers on responding in kind. After a second drink, Pen and Mike have agreed to go on a second date soon.

 

Spencer has an early lecture in the morning, so Pen makes polite excuses and stands to leave. Mike stands with him, and moves in to give him a hug. Pen freezes slightly, and Bond hisses in his ear “HUG HIM”, which reminds Pen to relax and reciprocate the embrace, and bravely kisses Mike on the cheek. Mike grins widely, and blushes slightly. 

 

As Pen turns to leave, he can see into the booth of Bachelor Number 2, the Interpol agent. One of the friends in his booth is Hotch. Or is that Paul, from the first night with Q in London. 

 

No, he’d know that frown anywhere. That’s HOTCH. Hotch is in London. Hotch is looking at him like he has never seen him before, and like he’s a puzzle to solve. And, after clubbing with Bond, Pen knows the look of desire in a man’s eyes. 

 

Spencer panics and runs.

 

He gets back to his hotel room, removes the earwig, and refuses to talk to Q or Bond when they call. He sleeps fitfully, but by the time of his lecture in the morning, he has convinced himself he was seeing things. That was obviously not Hotch in the booth. Hotch is in WitSec in America. Hotch would not be looking at him like THAT. 

 

 

Mike texts him the next day.

 

Spencer is trying not to panic while visiting Q. Q is laying out the data points that he and Bond observed. 

 

“Look, Spencer. This all sums up to the kind of man who, based on the profile you created of yourself, the observations of the men you allowed close to you, and the way you sorted the contacts to gained. You clearly require an older, competent male partner. You need someone you can trust, someone to rely on. You require someone intelligent, and strong-willed. Someone driven in some positive manner, with a job you can respect. Someone who will not bore you, and won’t let you get away with avoidance of any issues. 

 

“In addition, the physical type you are most attracted to is tall, dark-haired, well built without being overly bulky.”

 

This. This sounds horribly familiar. Q could be describing Hotch. Q is describing Hotch. Or, Spencer thinks, does he just want Q to be describing Hotch. Is he interested in Hotch.

 

He feels like his head is spinning. The buzzing of his phone is a relief, until he reads the text from Mike.

 

‘Pen. want to get some dinner tomorrow night?’

 

Spencer panics briefly, but Q grabs the phone and replies for him. 

‘Love to. When and where?’

 

‘7 pm. I can pick you up at your hotel? Do you like Italian?’ 

 

‘I love Italian, and I look forward to it’

 

“Spencer, you should go on this date. Mike fits most of the data, and you won’t know until you try.”

 

Spencer rolls his eyes at Q and agrees, reluctantly. “Help me figure out what to wear.”

 

 

 

 

**Blinded by the light**

 

 

Spencer sits in the lobby of his hotel in one of his three-piece suits. He skipped the tie, leaving the collar open. Both Bond and Q agree he hits the right notes with the outfit. Q is once more on the earwig listening in, just as backup. 

 

Spencer is distracted all through dinner. He has spiraled in and out, worried about this date. Worrying about what it might mean that Hotch matches the profile Q laid out for his ideal partner. Worried that Mike isn’t what he seemed. Panicking about everything, about nothing. He almost cancelled, but Q practically had him here at gunpoint. 

 

At the end of a dinner Spencer barely tasted, he realized the truth. He was completely in love with Hotch, and didn’t even know where the man was. Hopelessly, as Hotch had never shown the least interest in dating men. He could never go back to the FBI, as the echo of Hotch would never fade, and would kill him. 

 

This knowledge settled on him, the truth weighing down everything. He felt ten years older suddenly, and knew what he had to do. He pulled out his phone, turned it off, and looked directly at Mike for the first time all evening.

 

“Mike. I’m very sorry. I can’t do this. I thought I could. Thank you for dinner.”

 

And Spencer got up and left, leaving a stunned Mike behind.

 

 

Spencer caught a cab back to his hotel. As soon as he was safely ensconced in the taxi, he removed the earwig and held it gently. He needed to return this to Q, and head back home. This has been ridiculous. Spencer might as well give up now, and resign himself to flying solo. His profile was just wrong, that’s all. He’s been the only person he can depend on his entire life, that wasn’t going to change now. 

 

As the taxi pulls up to the hotel, he stealthily tucks his phone deep in the taxi seat.  He then stops at the front desk to ask for a padded envelope, and mails Q the earwig. Tracking him will be slightly more difficult, but he can’t face Q. Can’t face Bond. Has to get home and put himself together. Figure out how to live without Hotch, because realizing his feelings has thrown him. He doesn’t know who Spencer Reid is anymore. Maybe he never really did.

 

He finds himself in his room (losing time, not good, he thinks), and throws all his things into his suitcase. Grabs his messenger bag,. He’ll pick up a phone at home, text Q, and apologize. Right now he needs to be home. Needs to be safe. 

 

He heads down into the lobby and stops dead in his tracks. Obviously, he is hallucinating, as that is Aaron Hotchner standing at the front desk. He drops his suitcase, and Aaron turns to look at him. The most beautiful smile breaks out over Aaron’s face, as he rushes over to Spencer.

 

“Reid. Spencer. Its you. How….”

 

“Aaron?” 

 

Spencer collapses. 

 

**Seeing Clearly**

 

 

The next thing Spencer knows he is laying on a bed, with a cool cloth over his eyes. There is someone in the room, talking quietly on the phone. 

 

Spencer struggles to sit up, and lets the cloth fall from his eyes. Unless he’s had a psychotic break, Aaron Hotchner is in his hotel room.

 

“Aaron. Am I hallucinating?” whispers Spencer.

 

“Spencer. Are you OK?” Aaron helps him sit up against the headboard, and gives him a glass of water to sip. “You freaked the hell out of me.”

 

 

“Me? You showed up in the lobby after all this time. No contact. We had hope that you and Jack were still alive, but that was it. Where have you been?”

 

“Here. I’ve been here. Jessica and Jack and I were moved to London under Interpol’s auspices. Jack will be thrilled to see you again. I’m thrilled to see you again. I couldn't’ believe it was you a few weeks back! At that restaurant. I wanted to follow you, but I was with my...Well, my now-ex. He only knew me as my cover identity, Paul Wellings.”

 

“Wait. That was you? What about at the bar?”

 

“Yes. There too. And at the club. I haven’t been able to get away from you since you arrived. I’ve been coming by the hotel as I can, hoping to catch you coming in or out.”

 

“Oh, my god. I thought I was dreaming you. That my subconscious wanted to find you so badly I was seeing you everywhere I went. Especially after my experiments. When Al described the results, and they fit you to a T, I panicked. I was leaving. How….”

 

“Spencer. Stop. You’re not making sense.”

 

Spencer took a deep breath and tried to bring his thoughts to order. He fell silent, unsure what to say next.

 

“Spencer.” Aaron visibly took a deep breath. “Spencer. There’s something I need to tell you.

 

“These last couple years, I’ve been re-evaluating everything. I realized that while I miss the BAU, who I really missed was you. I spent a year coming to grips with that, and when I realized that my return to the US would be delayed further, I tried to move on. Everyone I’ve dated, though, just reminds me of you.

 

“I know its unfair to you, but I have to tell you - I love you. I have missed you every day since I left. You don’t have to say anything, do anything. I can leave now, and you never have to talk to me again. But I couldn’t be in front of you again and not tell you how I felt.”

 

Spencer stared at Aaron. This could not be true. Aaron loved him? Aaron dated men? Aaron was… leaving?

 

Spencer’s silence had lasted a little too long, and Aaron gathered himself to leave. “I’d like to leave my phone number with you. If you, ever, want to talk. Friends. Anything. Just text. I’ll always answer.” Aaron looked at Spencer like he was memorizing his face, like he never expected to see him again, and turned for the door.

 

“Wait!” tore out of Spencer’s throat. Spencer leapt at Aaron, turned him around, and held him tight. “No. Don’t leave. Don’t ever leave me.” 

 

Spencer’s eyes filled with tears. “I love you too. I’ve been looking for you and never realized it.”

 

Spencer leaned forward and kissed Aaron tenderly on the lips. He was finally not alone.

 


End file.
